The Verse of Truth
by thornwolfsbane
Summary: Grimmjow is the crown prince of the elvi, a powerful ancient race. Torn between his duty to his people and an unlikely friendship, his convictions will be tested in the forge of battle. Ichigo is the last of his race. His memories lost, just like his people, he must uncover his past to reclaim his birthright and bring the Verse of Truth to light. AU and not canon.
1. Prologue- Lament

**Okay so here's my first try at a fic involving some well-known characters. I'm a complete noob at this, so please be gentle. This story is a complete fantasy, AU and disticntly not Canon. It will likely be a lengthy affair, so bare with me. There will likely be adult themes later in the fic, so if your underaged or not into same sex relationships, I suggest you steer clear. For now I just want to put this out there and see how people respond.**

**Note: Bleach and its characters is the property of Kubo-sensei. I do not own them, unfortunately.**

**Anyways, hope you enjoy. TW**

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_Great King! Great King! _

_Why should you die?_

_Why should we lose something so dear?_

_Tear out our hearts, tear out our souls_

_We lay our shattered dreams upon your bier._

_Great King! Great King!_

_Our hope is burned to ash, Our dignity is shorn_

_What shall we do, O fate?_

_A precious life is now unborn._

**The Lament of Adar**

**(Book of Kings, Concluding verse)**

* * *

**Prologue- Lament**

Grimmjow had been tracking the boy for half a mar before he found him in a small clearing. To his keen senses the dark night appeared as a cloudy day, where the sounds and scents of the Valdaerian woods were more than familiar to him, they were home. He could track anyone here blindfolded, maybe even trussed up with only his nose to guide him.

Following the dark spatter of a blood trail, Grimmjow stopped briefly to gain his bearings when he heard the boy's voice floating on the breeze. Why was the fool singing?

The lament of Adar rose and fell softly with the night air, almost lost in the cadences of the leaves in their swaying boughs. Nevertheless, Grimmjow heard him clearly and followed the song to its source.

A boy had collapsed on his knees in the soft grass of a glade, his outline visible to Grimmjow in the near pitch hours before dawn.

He stood observing the small frame quietly from the tree line, listening intently as the boy sang a lament to mourn the passing of a king. In truth, tonight the boy sang to the passing of an entire race. A truly beautiful piece of poetry skillfully blended with a haunting melody. The boy's voice brought it to life, so pure and filled with such tremendous sorrow the heavens would weep with him.

It was near impossible for Grimmjow to keep his resolve and he desperately tried to remain apathetic in the face of such visceral grief. He felt tears rise unbidden to the corners of his eyes, flowing warm and freely over his cheeks. Ignoring the unwelcome show of emotion, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, composing himself, filling his lungs with the cool night air.

The fresh scents of the forest and Cereus blossom, a sweet amber flower that only blooms once at night, filled his nose. Called twilight peace in the common tongue, the flowers were a fit companion for the metallic tang of fresh blood that now clung to the air. _A fit flower for a grave_, he mused.

He had to end this as soon as possible. Grimmjow's elders would have little sympathy if he defied them.

With a strange mix of trepidation and excitement he crouched low on padded paws, his tail flicking from side to side. He crept quietly closer to the boy, using the deep shadows cast by the new moon to his advantage. Always hidden, always silent, as his training demanded.

He was upon the singing boy in moments, rising to his full height in plain view, a wraith in the darkness. However, the boy simply continued with his lament, as if Grimmjow was not there at all. Even after he took hold of the boy's face and raised it so that their eyes met, the boy didn't flinch or stop singing.

Half-naked, his clothes almost torn from his body, the younger boy was almost bathed in gore. An unruly mop of fire-tempered hair framed a handsome face lined in pain, caked with soot and dried blood. His tears had dragged horrid streaks across his cheeks and hazel eyes stared vacantly as he sang on and on, verse upon heart wrenching verse. A large gash in his side was spilling precious blood down his waist and thigh and Grimmjow knew he would die soon if left unattended.

Grimmjow took a moment to collect his thoughts and looked to the Southern skies, just visible through the treetops. An evil orange glow colored the air there, where great black clouds were billowing up to blot out the moon and stars. He felt torn between his duty and the boy in front of him. This boy was probably the last of his kind, a race almost as old as his. Should he spare him or release him from his misery?

The moral conflict that raged within him was almost too much to bear. He was still young himself. If only an elder was present, Grimmjow would defer to his wiser kinsman and all he would have to do is act accordingly, if at all.

He flicked his tail from side to side again lost in thought, his brow furrowed. He was so distracted that he almost leapt out of his fur when suddenly the boy leaned forward and embraced him, grabbing fistfuls of his hair as he clung to him, still weeping and singing. A deep growl escaped his lips, before he could stifle his quick fire temper and tried to pry the waif off him. Grimmjow hated being touched without invitation. But the effort proved futile and the boy was not hurting him as such, only burying himself into Grimmjow's fur as if he could find salvation there.

He let him be for the time being and frowned again at the little bastard clinging to him like a barnacle. This situation was vexing and quickly spiraling out of control! He eventually had to act. Sitting around waiting for a solution to present itself just wasn't his style. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez is simply not patient enough for that.

On and on the lament went, the verses flooding from the ginger boy's lips like water. With an irritated huff, Grimmjow tried to suffocate the boy in his fur. But it felt wrong and he just couldn't abide it. The temporary muffled silence did bring a short reprieve however, allowing him to think more clearly. He released his hold and the boy continued his song after some short gasps, his ardor quickly failing as his life's blood flowed from him. His voice, no less beautiful than moments before, had reduced to almost a whisper as it faded into the cool night air.

Grimmjow roared his frustration to the sky. He could just let him flow quietly into The Lady's embrace, but something inside him just did not sit well with that choice either.

"Damn it all!" he spat out through clenched teeth, sounding loud over the boys dying voice. Why couldn't he just end it quickly? Why? He's too damn young for bullocks like this!

Concentrating deeply, Grimmjow closed his eyes and focused his will. The air around one of his paws started to shimmer and glow softly in the darkness. The light grew brighter and turned pale blue in his cupped paw. He extricated the boy from him with less effort this time and placed him on his back in the grass. He looked deathly pale and was mumbling incoherently now, all meaning lost to the night wind as his strength waned.

Placing his paw over the wound, Grimmjow extended his senses into the boy's body, tracing the trauma inflicted on the small frame. He slowly released the collected energy, drawing more from the boy's stores of body fat, as well as his own considerable reserves. He let the healing fade flow over the open wound, an angry hot sensation to his senses, willing torn flesh to heal, muscle to knit and skin to close up. Setting broken bones, mending torn blood paths and restoring lost blood require a great deal of energy and complete focus, straining Grimmjow's reserves.

Finally releasing conscious hold of the spell, Grimmjow opened his eyes and inspected his work. The boy was unconscious, breathing evenly and for now still very much alive. He had never treated such a serious wound and Grimmjow felt tired but quite proud of his effort. The spell's glow had faded, revealing a neatly healed wound, with only a silvery line from armpit to bellybutton. The thin scar would likely fade over time, he hoped. It would however always be a mute testimony of the fuilhoíche, the blood night.

Grimmjow regarded the prone boy for a while and watched as his chest rose and fell slowly. He listened to his heartbeat, a rhythm that played proudly behind fragile bones. Reaching around to his back, he opened his málá go deo, a finely crafted leather satchel attached to a sturdy girdle around his waist. The satchel contained a piece of folded space, able to store a large amount of objects without becoming cumbersome to carry. Everything depending on whether the object can fit through the opening of the pouch. An additional crafting also ensured that no other hand but its masters could withdraw anything from the bag.

Calling up a mental image of the object Grimmjow wished to extract, he reached into the málá go deo, to withdraw a patch of pure darkness from its depths. The scáthclóca or shadow cloak, an essential tool for the stealth required in recognizance. The delicate construct consisted of an intricate weave of bent light and the hair of a shadow cat that could hide its wearer from enemy eyes. Grimmjow being a natural adept had not required its use until now.

He wrapped the boy in the cloak, hiding him from sight and constructed magical tethers to tie him to his back. It would allow Grimmjow to move more freely and keep his charge hidden from prying eyes. He would take the boy back to the ancient capital and present him to the elder council and his father. They can decide his fate, though it was a discussion that he dreaded whole heartedly. Grimmjow doubted that his father would be particularly pleased with his actions tonight.

_What will be, will be_, he thought gloomily. Whether his decision would proveto be ill-conceived or just, in the end Grimmjow felt that it was the right thing to do regardless of what anyone thinks. Taking a deep breath to calm his frayed nerves, Grimmjow stood up and adjusted the bundle at his back.

He left the glade at an easy lope, heading deeper into the wild heart of Valdaera. His home.

* * *

Some time had passed and dawn was breaking over the Middlen plains and the great port city of Maecea. Grimmjow was entering the mountain pass of Plythh when he turned to steal a last glance at the greatest city ever built.

The once proud city was a writhing inferno and great billowing clouds of smoke rose to the sky and spread out for many mar on the prevailing breeze, spewing ash and windblown debris as it drifted on. The great towers and parapets that once shone like jewels and challenged the sky, were now smoldering ruins crumbling in the light of dawn. Their thunderous crashes could be heard even this far from the walls of Maecea.

_So ends the days of the Macedine city-state_, Grimmjow thought solemnly. It was the most tragic scene he had ever seen and his heart ached. History will always remember what happened here and he had a terrible feeling that this night will haunt his people for many ages to come.

The boy was sleeping soundly, his breath warm between Grimmjow's shoulder blades where he had probably buried his face in the longer fur. Grimmjow had to shift the unseen boy a few times more to make the burden a bit more comfortable to bear. But overall the journey had been uneventful.

He was surprised at how light the boy felt on his back and his small stature seemed uncharacteristic for his race. The Macedines were a tall race, taller than most other races and at a height with most elvi. The tangerine seemed a runt by comparison.

_Were..._, Grimmjow felt a chill in the pit of his stomach when he realized that he was already referring to the Macedines in the past tense. It made the predicament of his charge even more distressing.

By all his ancestors and The Lady, he hoped he was doing the right thing and that he would not come to regret his decision. He turned and travelled further into the wooded realm of his people, leaving the towering inferno that was once the great metropolis of Maecea raging at his back…

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**So there it is. Only a tentative begining with much more in store. Comments/ reviews? **

**All the best, till the next chapter! TW**


	2. Chapter 1- Stirring trouble

**The much anticipated first chapter. Please remember that this is a non canon AU fic. Some creative licence has been taken and accidental OOCness might jump out when least expected. All copyrights and wavers are still in effect. Otherwise, I sincerely hope that you enjoy the story. TW **

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"Youth is naught but a fleeting thing,

a brief reprieve from all life's cares.

Bruised by time and sensibility,

until at once when all its promise becomes a dream

we look back upon those carefree days

and curse our own maturity."

**The Pyrrhic Victory**

**(A Warrior's Way- The discourse of general Oshō, Proverbs 42 and 43)**

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**Chapter 1- Stirring trouble**

Ichigo woke early to the sounds of greenlings chirping in the boughs outside his window. The small iridescent lizards were scuttling along the branches so that they could bask in the first rays of the sun. He watched as first light broke over the great canopy of Quercus, first bathing the trees in shades of red then glorious shades of orange and gold.

The greenlings were unfolding big fan-like membranes to the sun, filled with so many blood vessels that they looked like bright red blossoms between the leaves. Ichigo watched them for a while as they jostled and fought noisily at the ends of thick branches, trying to gain the best spot for sunning. They would glide between the trees looking so much like falling leaves drifting in the wind.

He always wanted one as a pet, but these animals were unfortunately similar to plants in that they obtained their energy from the sun. They would make poor companions to keep indoors and was best left outside in the branches where they are in their element. A soft smile graced Ichigo's face as he observed their frenzy and squabbling. They always seemed to cheer him and he needed to smile today more than most.

Ichigo sighed a little and started to hum a familiar melody. Looking out at the great forest city of Quercus, he was completely lost in his thoughts and barely noticed movement within its bows. The market square was already crawling with vendors, cleaning their stalls and displaying their wares with great care. Even the smell of baking bread that drifted tantalizingly on the morning breeze brought little comfort to the teen.

The capitol of the Elvi was already buzzing with excitement, preparing for the new day. Only here sat Ichigo, with a slight frown on his face, reminiscing over tired subjects like a jackal worrying an old bone. Today marked the tenth cycle of his discovery on the edges of the Valdaerian woods, after the fall of Maecea. He can't remember anything of that night, nor his life before that. Everything up to the moment he woke in a strange room in the grand bower of the royal capital was an almost impenetrable blank wall.

Ichigo moved to his unmade bed and sat down between the disarray of soft blankets and scattered pillows with an annoyed grunt. All he could recall was a blur of disjointed images and sounds of fire, smoke and screaming, but no details whatsoever. His first clear memory was of Grimmjow looking down at him, on this very same bed when Ichigo was recovering from his ordeal.

He also had a brief recollection of soft fur that smelled of rain and pine. _That might not be a true memory at all though_, he thought with a huff and scowled. Grimmjow did say that he was carried all the way to Quercus. So it was probably memories of his rescuer. However, the crown prince had depressingly little else to share about his auspicious arrival in the kingdom of the Elvi.

It frustrated Ichigo to no end. All he knew of his past and his people were what the royal keepers of history, the curiarrachtaí, told him. They taught him what little they knew of his culture, history, poetry, music, everything that the grand library of Quercus contained. Although he could remember some things, especially fragments of songs and poetry, most of the information was as new diction to him.

Ichigo turned to look at himself in a polished silver mirror hanging on the adjacent wall. A young man in his late teens with fiery locks and a light complexion was staring back at him. But he couldn't bring himself to look into those dark hazel eyes. He just knew he wouldn't like what he saw there. _A lost soul with no identity that's what_, he thought wryly.

Who he was, his exact age, his family, his life, was simply gone. No matter how hard he tried, all the tomes he read, every scrap of paper or illustration of his people, nothing would jog his memory. The only thing that Ichigo had left of their legacy was that he could read and speak the Macedine language. A poor gift, as he was the only Macedine left after a cataclysm destroyed his race ten turns ago.

Out of old habit, he started rolling a little pendant of The Lady hanging from his neck between his fingers. He placed the fine chain the silver effigy hung from in his mouth and chewed on it lightly, still deep in thought. This single keepsake of his former life was the only reason that he even knew his name, feeling the engraved letters on the back of the figurine as it rolled between his fingers.

_There is simply none of his kind left to turn to or question_, he thought sadly, letting the chain fall to his chest. He was alone, a living relic with no past, only a tenuous present and an even more dubious future. No wonder the elvi called him dílleachta, orphan. He belonged nowhere and to no one, a remnant of a dead world that could only speak to him from the pages of aging books and crumbling scrolls.

"Tcha!" Ichigo breathed irately, he hated being so morose. He hated this day for reminding him of what he lost and more than that, he hated that he could not remember exactly what it is that he had lost.

"Staring at your reflection again Amh?" a gravelly tenor broke into Ichigo's sombre musings.

He turned to find Grimmjow leaning against the door to his bedchamber staring intently at him with a wicked little smirk plastered on his handsome face. Ichigo frowned at the slight jab, but brushed it off with a tired smile as he stood to greet his friend. He quietly hummed one of his favourite tunes while he crossed the room, deciding firmly to leave his melancholy behind him and he felt the better for it.

Ichigo absolutely loved music. It gave him release and soothed him whenever he was upset or happy, like now. He would sometimes sing, but only when no one was around to hear. He thought he was quite good at it, but the thought of singing in front of others embarrassed him immensely. Only one person knew of his talent and that's why one of Grimmjow's many pet names for Ichigo was Amhrán deas. It literally meant 'nice song'. However, Grimmjow would sometimes just call him Amh, a jape at Ichigo's expense, since he used to make a similar sound when he was unsure of himself or flustered. He learned quickly to stop making the noise, as Grimmjow teased him relentlessly over it. The nickname stuck though, much to Ichigo's chagrin.

Embracing his friend, Ichigo took comfort in the elvi's warmth and companionship. Though Grimmjow could be a jackass at times, like now. The elvi had grown so tall in recent years and Ichigo had to stand on his toes to touch his forehead to Grimmjow's in greeting. He suspected that the bastard did it on purpose too just to annoy him, not willing to bend down so that Ichigo would not have to strain himself.

Grimmjow had often joked about Ichigo's shorter stature and he hated that he was probably the shortest person in the entire capital. And that was including the elvi who was so bent with age that they just beat Ichigo by a few finger breadths. _Well except maybe for Lumina and Verona_, he groused silently, _but they look like squat chipmunks anyway, so they don't count_.

Grimmjow chuckled lightly at the scowl that stole across Ichigo's face and ruffled his vibrant unkempt hair. "Nice job with the fur sinséar," he smirked.

Swatting the teasing paw away from his ginger mane, "it's not like yours is any better kitty cat," Ichigo sniffed. "What!" exclaimed the feline, grabbing his chest and affecting a ridiculously wounded look. "Such insolence, this is pure art," he stated seriously, pointing to the controlled mess of sky blue spikes, barely tamed by a simple dragon bone circlet between his pointed ears.

Ichigo chuckled at the dramatic fakery as Grimmjow staggered around the room tail jerking, making pathetic gagging noises while holding his chest. The redhead just sighed expansively and turned to his wardrobe to dress quickly. He gasped slightly when out of nowhere Grimmjow appeared right in front of him, but he laughed outright when the feline crossed his eyes, wiggling his brows and ears at him while sporting the most ridiculous toothy grin imaginable.

His friend always seemed to appear out of thin air at times when he felt sad and lift his spirits. Forgetting his previous doldrums, Ichigo smiled as he washed and dressed quickly into something more presentable. He tried to tame the flaming spikes radiating from his head in the mirror. But he finally just snorted in defeat after the third failed attempt to get some sort of style to his mane. "Damn it's gotten too long too... I'll have to cut it soon," he breathed in disgust.

"Well now... if you're done pining and preening, I would love to get some breakfast before that besom throws the food out again," the bluenette said, a slight scowl clouding his face. "Tca, Nel would never do such a thing," scoffed Ichigo. Grimmjow just quirked a sceptical brow at him and headed for the door, leaving Ichigo to follow him.

"Okay... maybe she'd give yours to Kukkapuro," Ichigo conceded as they turned into the corridor, "but Nel would definitely put mine aside…"

Ichigo smiled quietly, knowing full well that the palace cook had a terrible soft spot for the teen and would do anything for him. Grimmjow however not so much and said feline just grumbled in response as his tail lashing from side to side. His constant bickering with the green haired woman was almost as common a staple at mealtime as much as the dishes themselves.

They navigated the labyrinth of corridors in companionable silence, passing servants, guards and minor nobles as they made their way to the refectory in the lower halls. All the while Ichigo studied his friend from the corner of his eye. _He's changed a lot in the last few years, _he mused idly.

The crown prince stood a little shy of seven feet tall, with a strong build, wide shoulders and hard muscle. His dark blue chest fur turned to almost midnight at his back with dark stripes just creeping over his bare shoulders and sides. His most striking features were hypnotic blue eyes lined by sea green markings that extended to the sides of his ears.

Grimmjow wore a breechcloth of the finest material and leggings of dark leather fastened with a woven belt of silver and gold across his hips. Fine metal bracers graced his forearms with an intricate vine pattern wreathed around twin daggers cleverly incorporated into the armour. The whole look was finished with a short cuirass of similar design covering his chest and shoulder blades, leaving his lower back and stomach muscles bare. Every article he wore was emblazoned with the royal coat of arms, a stalking shadow cat.

Ichigo just couldn't help but admire Grimmjow's handsome features and regal grace. He was just a pale scrawny slip with the graces of a stump by comparison and that sometimes left Ichigo feeling somewhat drab around his friend...

* * *

"_Oof._"

They had barely entered the refectory when a white blur launched itself at Ichigo, bowling the teen over. Kukkapuro was avidly trying to lick his face while a series of yips and whines filled the air from the enthusiastic dire wolf.

"And a good morning to you too," he managed while valiantly trying to extricate himself from the canine, much to Grimmjow's great amusement. "Have you been a good boy?" the teen asked smiling. "_Wuff,_" the dire wolf barked happily, wagging his tail, while still trying to jump up against Ichigo.

"Calm down Kukkapuro," he chided softly finally picking himself up off the floor, "if you behave, I'll ask Nel to give you a nice bone to chomp on later."

The dire wolf sat back on his haunches, tail sweeping the floor as he cocked his head to consider the bribe. Eyes shining with keen intelligence studied Ichigo for a moment, "_wuff woof_", he agreed. "Good boy," Ichigo praised and petted the white shaggy fur on Kukkapuro's back. They made their way to one of the unoccupied trestle tables lining the refectory walls, passing a few palace guards and retainers finishing their morning meal.

"You spoil him rotten Amhrán deas, you'll make him fat and lazy," said Grimmjow eyeing his pet critically. The wolf denied the accusation passionately with a heartfelt whine, making his master chuckle. "What, am I wrong?" he asked the sulking beast with a raised brow.

"_Woof_._"_

Grimmjow chuckled, "you're too bloody smart for your own damn good you parasite," he said fondly as he ruffed his wolf's head fur. Kukkapuro just yawned expansively, displaying an impressive row of teeth and laid down at his master's bare feet as soon as they sat down for breakfast.

Lumina and Verona was doing their rounds serving food and clearing tables as the last stragglers breezed in for breakfast. Built like small boulders on spindly legs, the twins moved with surprising speed among the tables. Noticing their newest arrivals, the two servants bowed respectfully to the pair then moved like whirlwinds once more, to set the table.

Identical mugs of warm spiced tea were brought to them along with two steaming bowls of porridge dusted with cinnamon and drizzled with honey. A bowl of fresh fruit and bread was also brought to the table, as well as a crock of butter and some preserves.

Grimmjow eyed the food dubiously. "Oi, what's with the gruel?" he growled at the portly twins, "where's the eggs and bacon?"

The twins stopped dead in their tracks and turned slowly to stare at Grimmjow. "It's already finished young master," they both chimed nervously wringing their hands, "the last bell has already rung for breakfast sir." Both of them stood quite still, clearly wishing to be elsewhere and avoid a confrontation.

"I can't live off of this, this is a beggar's meal," groused the bluenette, ignoring the twins discomfort. "Where's the meat?"

"I'll go see if there might be something left young master," squeaked Verona, trying to appease the irritated prince. The servant scuttled away through the two heavy swinging doors that lead to the kitchen leaving his sister in his wake. _Why can't he just let it be_, thought the teen bitterly. Ichigo huffed an irritated breath and started on his own breakfast. He ignored the bluenette next to him stabbing the porridge with obvious disgust and continuously muttering "_gruel_" and "_hate it_" under his breath.

"What's taking so long?" yelled Grimmjow moments later, impatiently glaring at the silent kitchen doors with a deep frown. _Shit he's being too loud_,thought Ichigo nervously, _Nel won't be happy_.

A loud clatter echoed from the kitchen and Verona came almost vaulting trough the doors. He grabbed Lumina by her sleeve and they both scarpered like spiders on a hot plate to the other side of the refectory. "Damn it," groaned Ichigo, "here comes more trouble". And on cue a buxom woman with hazel eyes and waist length sea green tresses stomped into the refectory. Brandishing a rather intimidating wooden spoon like a lance, the centaur honed in on the two young men and levelled a stony glare at the prince.

"Is there a problem little prince?" Nel asked, smiling sweetly at the bluenette though her eyes flashed dangerously. "No, nothing at all," said Grimmjow, rolling his eyes at the fuming cook.

"O my, I was under the impression that you might have a problem with your food Grimmy?" the cook said, her words dripping disdain. She moved closer to the table, her black tail swishing behind her. "Maybe you would like to wait till tonight for something better, hmmm?"

Grimmjow bristled next to Ichigo, his anger rolling off him in waves. "You should treat your prince with more respect," he spat, desperately trying to control his temper. "Respect is earned fur ball," retorted Nel. And that straw broke the back of Grimmjow's temper.

"You stupid, limp-breasted, grass-eating harpy," he ground out between clenched teeth. "I am your prince you will not treat me this way."

"Wait what did you just call me you ungrateful little whelp," shrieked Nel. "Are you deaf or is there hay stuck in your ears woman," the feline sneered at the furious centaur. "I can't eat this slop," he continued as he picked up the bowl of porridge and threw it at the cook's feet. The bowl shattered with a loud clatter and warm porridge splattered all over the centaur's hooves and shins.

Surprise quickly gave way to absolute fury as Nel stomped her feet and tossed her sea green locks. _Shit, shit, shit, _Ichigo swore jumping out of the way as the cook stormed like a raging bull at Grimmjow, swinging her spoon as if it was a sword.

The prince barely dodged a neat blow to the side of his head and blocked the next one with a dagger. Soon the confrontation deteriorated into a full blown duel with both fighters trusting and parrying with reckless abandon, threatening to upend the table and spill the rest of breakfast on the floor.

Everyone scattered from the hall like ants, while Ichigo just dove under the table and hid from the confrontation next to Kukkapuro. The sounds of the two elvi clashing filled the hall, with lots of grunting, curses and the steady rhythm of steel hitting wood with a dull _Twak twak twak_.

Following a few more heated exchanges, one of Grimmjow's daggers abruptly came skidding under the table and a loud thump reverberated on the table overhead. Everything went quiet once more, except for the sound of heavy breaths and growling coming from above.

Ichigo slowly emerged from hiding to assess the damage followed by an excited Kukkapuro who had retrieved his master's dagger from under the table.

The prince was flat on his back across the tabletop, his one paw still clutching a dagger pinned securely to his chest. The lip of Nel's spoon was pressed firmly against Grimmjow's windpipe, while he in turn had his other paw securely around her throat. They were still recovering their breath from the short confrontation, but they refused to back off from their current stalemate.

_This has been the worst confrontation to date_, thought Ichigo in the uncomfortable silence. They've never come to blows before and Ichigo hated the constant bickering. Why can't his friend just get along with Nel? In all fairness though, Grimmjow's not always the one that starts the fights. Nel has also been the one to fan the flames of many an argument as much as the feline has.

Trying to defuse the situation Ichigo carefully stepped between the two angry elvi. "Okay guys….that's enough, let's take a deep breath and calm down," he said gently tugging at their wrists to separate the two. With a final growl from Grimmjow and a sneer from Nel, they both released their holds and the centaur stepped back to give the prince more space. _Why does mealtime always have to be a battle_, thought Ichigo wryly.

"Uhm, that's great guys," soothed Ichigo, "just straighten up, it's all over now." He watched the two with bated breath as they still glared daggers at each other. Kukkapuro thankfully grabbed Grimmjow's attention when he jumped up against the feline to return the fallen dagger to his master. The bluenette took the dagger from Kukkapuro's maw and pushed the beast off him with a pat on the head and a grunt. Wiping both blades, he returned them to their sheaths and started straightening his dishevelled appearance. All the while he kept ignoring everyone else like a petulant toddler.

Groaning to himself, Ichigo finally took a deep breath and tried his best at diplomacy. "Grimmjow, if you're calm now, can you please apologize to Nel," he said sternly.

"I will do no such thing Ahm," growled the feline, "she should be punished for her insolence."

"GRIMMJOW, enough of this!" Ichigo stomped his foot in frustration. "You will be crowned as heir apparent in only a few days, must I remind you of your duty."

That earned Ichigo an indignant growl and the bluenette scowled at him. "You sound now just like my father Ichigo," he said softly sounding a little hurt.

Ichigo sighed deeply, dragging a tired hand across his face and rubbing his eyes. He hated playing on his friend's sense of honour, but he was being unreasonable and childish. The redhead also knew very well about the strained relationship between Grimmjow and his father. Ichigo simply did not have the strength for this today. _Not today_, he thought bitterly.

"Please Grimmjow...you're better than this," he pleaded.

"Tcha fine," he finally conceded. "Sorry Nelliel," he apologized, though to ichigo's ears he barely sounded sorry at all.

The centaur surveyed the prince like something stuck on the bottom of her hoof. "You are still too immature," stated Nel with a swish of her tail. "You have a long ways to go before I can call you king little boy," she said flatly and turned her back on them to disappear into the kitchen again.

Grimmjow growled his anger and made to attack the centaur once more, but Ichigo got a hold of him and barely restrained him. "Get orf me midget," he growled as he dragged the other teen along a few paces toward the closing kitchen doors. "Grimmjow behave yourself."

Cool orbs fixed Ichigo with an arctic glare, "I'm not a child Ichigo... let go of me NOW."

Ichigo let go of Grimmjow immediately. His friend's tone was starting to smart and Ichigo could feel frustrated tears tugging at the corners of his eyes. _DAMN IT!_, he really didn't want to argue with him today, _why can't he just understand?_ The teen's breaths became shallow and shadows started creeping into his vision.

Ichigo shook his head to clear his muddling thoughts and took a few deep breaths to stop the tears from falling. He didn't want to be around Grimmjow if he was planning on being a jackass, so he turned on his heal to leave the refectory. But a few short paces brought him smack against a solid object barring his way. Rubbing his forehead, the redhead blinked stupidly at the person who was standing in his way.

The first thing he noticed was a curtain of pitch black tresses and a single grey eye boring into him. Ichigo took a few tentative steps back to distance himself from the stranger. Covered in a carapace of white dragon bone armour, the man towered menacingly over the teen, a wide humourless grin etched across his face. "Well hello there little man," his gravelly voice crooned. Ichigo just stared in mute horror at the insect-like man, as he bent down to eye level with the flustered teen. "What's wrong the cat ate your tongue?" he laughed. Grimmjow was behind him saying something to the lanky freak leaning over him, but Ichigo didn't hear a thing.

Something cold and disgusting traced its way down Ichigo's spine and settled like lead in his guts. The scar on his side started to sting inexplicably as terror suddenly permeated his body. He babbled a quick apology before heading to the nearest doorway to escape the man's cloying aura.

"Hey, where are you going?" called the bluenette, running after the ginger's stiff retreating back. But Ichigo couldn't hear him, he didn't understand what was happening to him. He was completely overwhelmed with an abrupt urge to get out of this oppressive box that seemed to be closing in around him. Barely suppressing the urge to run, he made a hasty retreat through quiet hallways and short corridors. Ichigo almost cried in relief when he finally stepped through a side door that opened onto the palace grounds. The morning sunlight felt warm on his skin, while the cool air and fresh scents of the gardens calmed his frayed nerves.

_Why am I so upset?_ mulled Ichigo. His behaviour was very distressing. It was as if something inside him just snapped at the sight of the strange man in the refectory and his body went into an instinctual drive for survival. For a moment he swore he heard voices screaming and it shook him to his core. _This is turning into an insanely shitty day_, thought the teen sourly, struggling a bit to bring his ragged breaths under control and collect his scattered thoughts.

Once the teen felt more composed, he headed towards an elegant pergola grown from white birch saplings bordering a large decorative pond. The delicate sent of climbing rose and water lily clung to the air as he entered the shade of the intricately woven canopy and sat in one of the benches closest to the water. Small splashes broke the clam surface of the pond where large fish snapped at insects hovering over the water's surface.

Ichigo stared at the sparkling surface for a long while where gilded bodies glided through the clear water, bright against the dark bottom. He let himself drift away into those depths, caught in a tranquil moment as he softly sang a few verses from the lament of Adar. _Why did this come to mind_, he wondered quietly. But the teen did feel much better though, in spite of the morbid subject matter and closed his eyes to enjoy the serenity.

It was short lived however, when the scrape of claws on flagstone, preceded a questing nose that insinuated itself into the teen's lap.

Kukkapuro huffed loudly as he sniffed at Ichigo's hands, reminding him of the promise he made earlier in the refectory. "Urg, Kukkapuro stop that," the ginger grimaced as the dire wolf started slobbering all over his lap. "_Wuff woof, whine,_" the dire wolf complained. "Fine, fine, keep your fur on," groused Ichigo, "I'll get you something in the market okay."

"_Woof,_" he finally agreed and padded over to the water's edge to bark at the fish. The redhead sincerely hoped the wolf wouldn't try to catch one again. The king was still fuming over the previous loss of several of his prized fish.

"Are you all right Ichigo?"

Grimmjow was leaning quietly against one of the pillars of the pergola wearing a worried look. His friend rarely used his proper name and it was mainly reserved for when he was angry or truly worried. Ichigo just shrugged in answer and stood to wipe spittle off his breeks. The prince was about to say something more, but Ichigo gestured for him to stop, "it's fine Grimmjow lets just forget about it okay". The feline's frown deepened, his cerulean eyes dark with unspoken doubts.

"O come on fur ball", smiled Ichigo, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, "let's go buy something to eat at the market, before your stomach starts devouring itself."

The prince growled at him in irritation, but laughed as his stomach growled back at the mention of food. With a huff the bluenette grudgingly accepted defeat and let the topic drop for the time being in order to address more pressing needs. He called out to Kukkapuro, who happily joined the two teens as they set off on one of the many pathways crisscrossing the palace grounds.

Ichigo was still a little shaken, but he wore a brave face for Grimmjow. He's probably only overreacting anyway and he just needs a little time to figure things out for himself. There's no sense in involving Grimmjow, the prince had enough troubles of his own to deal with.

Clearing his throat dramatically, Ichigo started to sing the lay of Wonderweiss. The lay was a lyrical satire with a jaunty tune that told the tale of an unfortunate conjuror who sought to resurrect his lost love, but brought back his horrid mother in-law instead. In the end the conjuror died a tragic but humorous death trying to repair the damage caused by his ill-fated spell, cautioning all that you don't always get what you ask for.

Ichigo kept entertaining his two companions as they made their way across the palace gardens to the front gate, desperately trying to dispel the sense of unease that clung to him like a second skin.

He really hated this bloody day...

* * *

**Okay, finally done, though I'm certain there might be some mistakes in there somewhere. The next chapter might take a little longer as nothing is prewritten, so bare with me. The plot just getting started... **

**If you like, please feed some comments to the wolf, before he starves. TW**


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